


and at the slightest touch, we're in love

by newamsterdam



Category: Free!
Genre: 2016 Summer Olympics, Bets & Wagers, Body Worship, Competition, Explicit Sexual Content, Foreplay, Happy Ending, HaruRinHaru Christmas Exchange 2015, Implied Sexual Content, Light Bondage, M/M, Modeling, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Rio de Janeiro, Shaving, Sightseeing, Swimming, Tapering, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-09 00:50:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5519363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newamsterdam/pseuds/newamsterdam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“And what do I get when I win?” Haru asks, nails against the underside of Rin’s knee.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Rin laughs, ticklish, and then remembers to be indignant. “You’re not going to win, asshole! Stop assuming that!”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“What does the winner get?” Haru rephrases.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Rin’s quiet for a moment, thinking. “I don’t know—the best sex of their life, when this is over?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Haru huffs. “Something more than that.”</i>
</p><p><i>“Whatever they want,” Rin says, finally. “Complete control over our fucking amazing victory sex.”</i><br/> <br/>(Haru and Rin make it to the Olympics: 75% plot, 25% sex.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starstarfairy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstarfairy/gifts).



> Written for this prompt: _Rin and Haru need to focus when it's time for a big competition--that means no touching._
> 
> _Basically, they challenge each other to see how long they can hold out without sex, because these losers can't keep their hands off each other. Fun shenanigans, teasing and competitive dorks in love. Would love it if the rising tensions culminated in some awesome sex once their events are over~ Bonus points if it's at the Olympics, cus the Olympic Village is infamous for being a crazy sex party. Just imagine being surrounded by that when trying to abstain...._
> 
> I switched some of the details around, a bit, but I really hope you enjoy this!
> 
> I know some Free! timelines have Rin and Haru going pro in 2009/10, but for the sake of keeping the timeline current I'm considering the 2016 Summer Games their first Olympics. They're somewhere between 19-21, age-wise.
> 
> Haru's competing in the 50, 100, and 200m freestyle races, as well as the medley relay, and Rin's competing in the 100 and 200m butterfly and 100m freestyle in addition to the medley relay. I've tried to keep the scheduling as accurate as possible, but it's 100% possible I messed up somewhere along the way.
> 
> Tapering is the practice of reducing exercise in the days just before an important competition. Some athletes taper sex in addition to exercise, which may or may not have actual benefit. Apparently, swimming sprinters sometimes taper for weeks. Poor Haru.
> 
> Also Ikuya is on the national team because I wanted him to be, and for no other reason. I've only read his character in the novel, so if he's not matching up to his movie characterization that's why!

Haruka knows how to be content. He’s still learning how to be _happy_. But each step is building to something, he’s sure.

He swims for his university team. He and Makoto meet for lunch, twice a week. Nagisa, Rei and Gou take the train into Tokyo to see him compete. Rin writes him letters, long and rambling, including pictures and mementos and feelings that Haru thinks they’ve been dancing around for years and years.

Rin comes home, for international competitions. He’s a little bit taller, a little bit broader. In the locker room, he stares at Haru like he’s never seen him before.

“What?” Haru finally asks, looking away.

“Nothing,” Rin mutters, looking down at the ground. When he looks back at Haru again, he’s smirking. “I told you, didn’t I? A varied diet and land training would do you good.”

Haru rolls his eyes and flexes muscles that are far more developed than they had been, the last time they met.

Sometimes, Rin wins. Sometimes (more often), Haru does. Sometimes, neither of them win, but they still get out of the pool laughing and smiling, and Haru feels heat running under his skin.

It’s not a surprise, really, when they both make the national team. It’s more of an affirmation.

They spend three weeks at a training camp, before heading to Russia. Rin and Haru are rooming together, and every night while Haru soaks in the (small) bathtub, Rin paces outside the door and critiques both of their forms and regimens until he tires himself out.

On their last night, Haru emerges from the bathroom to find Rin sitting at the foot of his bed, fidgeting with the blankets. Haru sits beside him, still damp from his bath. 

There’s silence between them for excruciatingly long moments. Haru sighs, shifting, and his knee brushes against Rin’s. Rin inhales, sharp, and Haru freezes, because he thinks he may have just ruined everything.

“Haru,” Rin says, voice distant and strained. “There’s something I’ve got to tell you.” 

He knows that Rin likes to be pushed forward, so Haru shifts until they’re sitting face-to-face. He waits, listening.

Rin’s confession is awkward and stilting, as rambling as his letters but as purposeful as his swimming critiques. “…I’m sorry I never said anything, before,” he finishes, face flushed and voice quiet. “I’m not expecting anything.”

Rin has always shattered Haru’s expectations. He revels in the chance to turn the tables, pressing his hands against Rin’s cheeks and kissing him, long and slow. It’s awkward, because Rin’s lips are dry and chapped and he doesn’t move his head to the proper angle because he’s frozen, breath caught in his throat. But Haru keeps moving against him, fingers tangling in his hair and gently tugging at him, demanding a response. And, eventually, Rin catches on, grabbing Haru’s shoulders and pushing him down onto the bed, and he’s laughing, and Haru smiles.

It’s not the first time they’ve slept in the same bed, but it is the first time Haru wakes up with Rin’s head against his chest and his arms around Haru’s waist. 

Russia is a blur of noise and color. It culminates, as Haru’s life always seems to, in a relay. When Haru’s hand slams against the side of the pool, he knows they haven’t won. He’s not sure whether he minds, because after a day of hearing from Rin about the Australians they’ve lost to, and how Riley isn’t _that_ good, and how dare the French get bronze, he leads Rin back to their hotel room and kisses him quiet. Rin is a bundle of energy, frantic and exceptional and brilliant. So Haru runs his hands all over Rin’s skin, and kisses him in every place he can reach, and lets Rin fuck him, fast and good, until they’ve both worn out their excess energy. 

Training for Rio is grueling, but Haru is learning to be happy. When he shakes the water from his eyes and his coach is standing by the pool’s edge, telling him he’s hit a new personal best, he’s happy. When Rin crowds him in the locker room and tells him about Saito and Tanaka, other butterfly swimmers, Haru feels a twinge of _something_ that he can’t place. But that night Rin falls asleep with his head on Haru’s shoulder when they’re supposed to be watching a movie, and the unease running under Haru’s skin settles, for a moment. 

They don’t advertise the relationship, because there’s no need to. Gou knows, and Makoto knows, and so do Rei and Nagisa and Sousuke and Nitori and probably Kisumi, though Haru hasn’t confirmed that one for sure, and even Rin’s mother. Some of their teammates are stiff and private and some have girlfriends or wives, but mostly they are all focused on swimming. Rin doesn’t bring it up, so Haru follows suit. 

But he does feel _something_ , when Rin leans against the walls of the natatorium and half of the team surrounds him, eager to hear gossip about Australia’s national team and the time Rin went diving near the Great Barrier Reef. Haru stays in the pool, floating on his back. He doesn’t say that he went diving with Rin, too, or that afterwards they had lain together on the beach and Haru didn’t even mind when the grittiness of the sand irritated his skin because Rin was holding him impossibly close and he felt more at peace than he ever had before. 

“You’re glaring,” Ikuya says, swimming in the lane beside him. 

“No, I’m not,” Haru mutters, diving back beneath the water. Who cares what Ikuya thinks, anyway? It’s not as if he’s making friends, either.

And Rin is… Rin is Rin. He never quite believes it, about himself, but he attracts people. He has a sharp smile and boundless confidence and quick wit and scathing sarcasm. He engages people, challenges them, makes them feel like he’s talking only to them. It only makes sense that he’s popular. Haru just wishes, sometimes, that it didn’t make him feel so lonely.

That night, when they’re in bed, Haru strokes them both off, rough and together. Rin gets close, his eyes scrunching and his breath quickening, but Haru slows down until Rin peters just on the edge. (He’s learned enough, about Rin, that it’s almost like a science.)

“Haru,” Rin whines, shifting his hips in a demand for more friction.

“With me,” Haru says in his ear, more desperate that his tone tells, “don’t come without me.” And Rin obliges him, makes short, aborted noises as Haru finally pulls them both over the edge together. 

“We have got to chill,” Rin says the next morning, groaning. “There’s no way we can keep this up in Rio.” 

It’s only been a year, Haru thinks. And Rio is only for a few weeks. They can survive that much, can’t they?

The butterfly coach is a younger man named Morimoto. He’s twenty-seven or twenty-eight, recently retired and with two bronze medals of his own. Rin disguises his admiration of the man with the usual bluster (“If I’d been at the last Olympics, I would’ve done better than _bronze_.”) but Haru sees, out of the corner of his eye, how Rin straightens up whenever Morimoto comments on his form. He sees how Rin smiles, eyes bright, when he outpaces the other butterfly swimmers and Morimoto nods at him approvingly. It’s a small thing, really, and Haru is focused enough on his own swimming. (The 50m is killing him, over before it even starts, really, leaving no time for daydreaming.)

It’s a small thing, but that evening when the others have dispersed Haru reaches for Rin and Rin comes to him, like he always does, and Haru memorizes every inch of him—chlorine and sweat and slick skin and strong hands. Rin’s hair tickles his cheek as Rin bites at his neck, Rin’s nails dig into his skin as Rin sucks him off, Rin’s voice hitching on every breath when Haru returns the favor. 

“Shit,” Rin says, grinning lopsidedly. “That was intense.” 

Haru stops rubbing absently at the hickey on his neck and quirks a brow, challenging. Rin dissolves into giggles, two fingers against his neck to measure his pulse. 

“I’m serious,” he says, stretching his arms over his head. “I’m starting my taper after practice, tomorrow, and _this_ is not going to help.”

Haru has learned to hate tapering since officially going pro. Rei had told him that runners taper in proportion to their distance—sprinters only a few days before competition. Haru had been bitterly disappointed when he realized the same didn’t hold true for swimming, and that as a sprinter Haru’s taper is measured in weeks, not days. 

“So taper this, too,” Haru says, flatly. He considers it a joke, maybe—the most he and Rin have gone without sex is a week, maybe a week and a half. 

But Rin looks up, thoughtful. “You think we should? It might be better, making it a set rule.”

He’s counting off days in his head, Haru knows, not quiet believing it. “You really want to?” he asks, voice incredulous. 

Rin sighs, shrugs his shoulders. “I want to be with you basically every second of the day,” he says, with simple finality. Haru’s heart swells, because he’s never sure how Rin is able to make these grand declarations so easily, so sincerely. But then Rin continues, “But I want the gold just as badly. You know that. And you want it, too.”

Haru purses his lips. “Not really.”

Rin grins, all teeth. “Liar.”

“Shut up.” But Haru’s thinking, because the last thing he wants is to be the reason Rin doesn’t achieve his dream. And there’s a part of him, increasingly loud, that wants to achieve his own. He can admit, privately and to only himself, that Rin is one of his dreams. But he’s not the only one. He lifts his chin. “You couldn’t do it,” he says.

“What?” Rin’s sitting up, now, eyes blazing with the familiar light of challenge. “You want to bet on that, Nanase?”

Haru draws his knees up to his chest and looks as disaffected as possible. “No need. You’d lose.”

“Like hell,” Rin says, and oh, Haru is in trouble, because when Rin gets that look in his eyes all Haru wants to do is kiss him. But Rin is still talking, saying, “We’d need rules. Boundaries.”

“No touching?” Haru suggests, because these days that only ends one way.

“No,” Rin says vehemently, “I need—I mean, there’s no need, for that. We just won’t have sex.”

“What counts as sex?” Haru says, just because he knows the more specific they get, the more flustered Rin will be. 

And sure enough, Rin’s blushing and scowling at the same time, now. “Nothing below the belt,” he says, finally. 

Haru considers this, head tilted to one side. He reaches over and trails the tips of his fingers against Rin’s calf, reveling in the way Rin shivers. “Not even this?” He feigns innocence.

“You’re such a fucking tease.” Rin pouts, but he doesn’t shift away from Haru. “Just—nothing that’ll lead to sex. No kissing, on the lips, at least. First person to cave loses.”

By this point Haru is stroking his hand back and forth across Rin’s skin, pensive. Being able to touch Rin whenever he wants to (whenever he needs to) is affirming in ways he’d never really thought about before. But the Olympics are important, to Rin and Haru both. He can handle a few weeks, he thinks. And in any case, Rin is the physical one, the effusive one, the clingy one. He’ll cave long before Haru.

“And what do I get when I win?” Haru asks, nails against the underside of Rin’s knee.

Rin laughs, ticklish, and then remembers to be indignant. “You’re not going to win, asshole! Stop assuming that!”

“What does the winner get?” Haru rephrases. 

Rin’s quiet for a moment, thinking. “I don’t know—the best sex of their life, when this is over?”

Haru huffs. “Something more than that.”

“Whatever they want,” Rin says, finally. “Complete control over our fucking amazing victory sex.”

They’re good at negotiating, better at communicating now than they ever were before. Haru wonders what he could win from Rin that he isn’t already getting. But the challenge still ignites something in him, and he dips his head to kiss the jut of Rin’s hipbone before looking up and nodding. “Fine,” he murmurs, “it’s a deal.” 

“Prepare to lose.” Rin’s shifting, sitting up, grabbing Haru by the shoulders and kissing him soundly on the lips. “We’ll start now,” he says, while Haru gasps for breath. “So we’re even.”

It’s when Haru realizes that he can’t kiss the smirk off Rin’s face that he frowns. 

Being around the national team is even more irritating now that most people’s tapers are beginning, because there’s nothing left to do except talk to them. Haru isn’t bad at making friends, precisely—there are two or three people on his university team that he actively likes, another half dozen that he does his best to tolerate. But the national team is highly concentrated talent and ego and ambition, set to simmer in the days leading up to Rio. It’s a volatile mixture at best, and Haru’s never really dealt well with posturing or other people’s stress. 

“What’s with you?” Ikuya asks, the day before they’re set to leave Japan. “You’re even quieter than usual.”

“You could talk,” Haru says, instead of answering the question. But that’s never how it’s been, between them, so Ikuya just shrugs and eats his noodles while Haru picks at his mackerel. Two tables away, Rin laughs uproariously at something one of their other teammates has said. Haru stabs his fillet with a chopstick. 

They wake up close to dawn in order to catch their flight, are herded onto a bus while wearing matching white, red, and black jackets. Something eases in Haru’s chest when he looks out at his teammates from the back of the bus, sees them all dozing or chatting or fiddling with their cellphones. He likes being part of a team, even though he finds that hard to admit.

Rin sits beside him, more awake then anyone should be so early in the morning. He leans over Haru to point things out through the window, whispers useless little stories in his ear as the rising sun tints the Japanese countryside red and gold. 

“I always seem to be leaving,” Rin says with a sigh, when they reach the airport.

“You’re coming back,” Haru says quietly. “You’re going to win medals, for Japan.” He pretends he isn’t pleased when Rin smiles—wide open and bright and perfect—just for him. 

He doesn’t like flying overseas, has only just gotten used to it between international meets and visiting Rin in Australia. There are too many people, on planes, the space too enclosed and stifling. He’s never said as much, out loud, but Rin knows. He holds Haru’s hand during take off, and by the time they’re at cruising altitude Haru has let go of his anxiety enough to fall asleep against Rin’s shoulder. 

And just like that, they’re in Rio.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey, let’s head up to our room and— wait, 504?” Rin is looking over Haru’s shoulder, scowling down at the number printed across his key. “I’m in 532. That can’t be right.”

“We’re not rooming together,” Haru says. Russia was probably just a fluke—luck of the draw, convenient because their intimacy had been new and addicting. The coaches and managers don’t really take personal preferences into account, argue that all members of the team should get along, equally.

Ikuya walks over, tugs at the end of Haru’s jacket. “We’re together, Haru,” he says, giving Rin a distinctly unimpressed look before heading down the hallway.

“Wait, who _are_ you?” Rin asks, watching him go and looking increasingly discomfited. Haru almost wants to laugh.

“I thought you knew everyone on the team,” he says, flatly. “That’s Ikuya, from middle school. I told you about him.”

“Yeah, right,” Rin mutters, rubbing at the back of his neck. Nothing shuts Rin up faster that speaking about middle school; he knows Ikuya and Haru were on the same relay team, and he probably isn’t jealous, but he still looks a bit lost, like Haru’s part of something he’s forever left out of. 

“I’ll see you at dinner,” Haru says, moving to follow Ikuya.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rin says. He reaches for Haru briefly, hand closing around Haru’s wrist. 

Haru pauses, gives him a questioning look. “Are you alright?”

“Sure,” Rin says.

The Olympic Village is a huge complex, and within a few hours most of the teams have arrived. Russia had been a competition of only swimmers, and so even when Haru found it a bit overwhelming it was still easy to navigate, to tell who people were. But now there are dozens of athletes and staff rushing through the hallways, all representing different nations and sports, and he can’t fit them together into one coherent picture. 

He spends most of his time in his room, because the taper bars him from any of the practice pools. The tub is big enough, and marginally more relaxing than any of the common areas. He’s deep into a soak on their third night when he hears someone knocking at the door. 

Ikuya’s voice filters towards him, slightly irritated: “It’s your _friend_.”

“His name is Rin,” Haru says, because he doesn’t have any other friends on the team, Ikuya aside. “You can let him in.” 

“Whatever,” Ikuya mutters. “I’m going out.”

Rin shuffles into the bathroom, wearing loose lounge pants and a tank-top, his toiletries bundled under one arm. Haru glances up at him from the tub and swallows, his gaze following the line of Rin’s collarbones and then the definition of his arms. He wants to invite Rin into the tub with him, wants to feel Rin’s arms go tight around his shoulders. But he can’t have that, anymore than he can go swimming right now. 

“I need to shave,” Rin says, by way of explanation. “Before the freestyle heats.” 

Haru lifts both his brows, tilts his neck backwards. “You have your own room.”

Rin makes an irritated noise, sets his things down on the bathroom counter and paces over to the tub. “They have me rooming with Yamada,” he groans, kneeling next to the tub so that he and Haru are at eye-level. “That guy’s a total dick. Keeps making shitty comments about Tom Daley, can you believe it?”

Haru has no trouble believing it. Yamada swims for a different university in Tokyo, specializes in backstroke. Haru has never had much interest in him. 

“So I’m gonna shave in here so I don’t have to listen to him talk,” Rin says, as though it’s settled. Haru just shrugs, lets him go on with it. It’s not as if it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. 

Rin shucks his pants, and of course he’s wearing nothing underneath. He’s only halfway through lathering his legs with shaving cream when Haru realizes what he’s doing.

“Rin,” he says, just a tinge of warning in his tone. Rin doesn’t even look up, but Haru doesn’t miss the way his lips quirk, like he’s fighting back a smile.

He’s got the razor poised over his knee when Haru finally breaks, getting up from out of the tub and splashing water all over the tiled floor. “Come here,” he orders. “I’ll do it.”

“If you want,” Rin says, guileless. He saunters over to the tub just as Haru is sitting up and draining the water. He motions for Rin to sit with his legs over the side, grabbing the razor from him. 

They’ve done this, before. Rin is obsessively precise about shaving, especially since he doesn’t wear legskins for official competition. Haru secretly likes the few days when Rin isn’t competing and lets his leg hair grow on his skin, delicate flicks of red that Haru likes the feeling of against his own legs. 

Haru sits beside Rin at the edge of the rub, motions for Rin to place his foot against Haru’s thigh as Haru positions the razor. He’s still in jammers, but this is the closest he and Rin have been in days, and despite the tank-top Rin may as well be naked. Still, Haru manages to keep himself carefully disinterested as he runs the razor down Rin’s leg in even, practiced strokes. After a few moments, Rin picks up the thread of his conversation and starts chattering again, moving on from Yamada onto other teammates, telling Haru that the Australians had invited Rin to get lunch with him, and while he loves swimming for Japan he can’t help but be proud that the Australians acknowledge him, too. 

“They’re going to introduce me to the Americans, tomorrow,” Rin says gleefully, as Haru motions for him to switch the position of his legs. “I want to beat _all_ of them.”

Haru doesn’t think about competitions in terms of people, really—he sees the times and he knows the feeling of different people beside him in the water, but matching those things to personalities and faces has never been his priority. But he knows how Rin works, so he just hums in acknowledgment, concentrating on his task while Rin keeps talking. 

It takes half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes, for Haru to finish methodologically running the razor all over Rin’s skin. At some point, Rin stops talking, and when Haru looks up at him, hands positioned on either side of his groin, Rin looks away with pink cheeks.

“Shit, Haru,” he mutters, shifting when Haru finally moves away, tapping the razor against the edge of the tub and watching the fine red hairs drift into the water. 

“Are you going to make it, Rinrin?” Haru asks, his voice not-quite smug. 

“Shut up,” Rin mumbles, splashing Haru with water.

Haru retaliates, but only because Rin started it. Rin laughs and grabs the shower nozzle, soaking Haru again. Haru shoves Rin, watching him topple sideways into the tub with smugness. They’re wet and worn out and giddy within minutes, but then a coach (Morimoto, of course it’s Morimoto) is knocking on doors and telling everyone to get some rest. Haru watches as Rin dries himself off before going back to sleep in his own room.

He and Rin are both qualified for three events, other than the medley relay. Haru’s competing in the 50, 100, and 200m freestyle races, while Rin has two butterfly events and the 100m free. Competition days change the atmosphere between them considerably, because they both focus inwards and make efforts to block out the rest of the world.

On Sunday and Monday, Haru competes in the three rounds of the 200m, finally coming in fifth. He doesn’t know whether he’s disappointed, exactly, but he spends the rest of the day feeling irritated, something shifting beneath his skin as he waits for Rin’s 200m butterfly races to be over. 

On Tuesday, Rin takes fourth in the 200m final. Haru can tell he’s upset, but there’s no time for him to dwell on it because the 100m free qualifiers happen the same day. Rin and Haru both make it past their heats, and the semifinals. Haru can see Rin making mental notes about their competitors, muttering under his breath as he towels off in the locker room.

Haru realizes, before the 100m final, that he doesn’t want Rin to be thinking about all of the other competitors. He wants things to be like they were in high school, when the two of them swam only against each other. He realizes, maybe, that even then Rin was already wrapped up in this world, and Haru was on his way there. But when Rin gets caught up in everyone else—the Chinese and Australians and Americans and French and all the rest—Haru feels jumpy, on edge. 

They walk out to the pool together, to the thunderous applause of the spectators. It’s Haru’s sixth Olympic race, and so he’s less unsettled by the crowd than he’d been the first time. He and Rin are wearing matching gear, jammers emblazoned with Japan’s Olympic motif. Rin looks out at their competition through narrowed eyes, until he catches Haru staring right at him.

“What is it?” he mumbles, looking slightly abashed. 

But Haru knows what it is that he wants. He reaches for Rin, stops just short of touching him. “Race me,” he says, softly, and because he’s speaking Japanese it’s unlikely that anyone else understands.

“What?” Rin asks, before his brow furrows. “What do you think I’m about to do—”

“No.” Haru shakes his head. “Rin. Race _me_.”

They’re told to take their marks before Rin can answer, but as soon as they both hit the water, Haru knows Rin has understood him. Because, in the water, everything else quickly falls away. Haru only feels the pull of his body though the pool, and Rin’s presence beside him, neck-and-neck. He never feels closer to Rin than at these moments, even close then when they’re pressed up against each other, breathing the same air. 

The race isn’t long. Haru smacks the side of the pool and gasps for breath, his lungs screaming with exertion. Rin is beside him, both his hands against the pool as his head hangs between his arms. Around them, there’s so much noise, the flash of cameras and the roar of the crowd. Haru can’t breathe, for a moment, as he glances up at the scoreboard.

Next to the number one is JPN. Next to the number two is JPN. Haru’s name is listed first, followed by Rin’s, and then the third place swimmer’s.

Even looking at it, it takes a moment for the facts to register.

“ _Haru_ ,” Rin wheezes, voice barely containing a breath, “Haru, _Haru_.” He’s scrambling out of the pool, reaching down to help Haru out onto the concrete. Haru clutches at Rin’s hands, doesn’t let go even when they’re both standing again.

“We medaled,” Haru says, his voice sounding far away to his own ears.

“You just won _gold_ , babe,” Rin says, words all rushing together. Haru doesn’t even remember to glare at him for the endearment. 

It all moves very quickly, after that. The podium is brought out, and the three placing swimmers line up in their team jackets as their names and stats are called out. The third place swimmer go up, and then Haru watches when Rin’s turn comes.

Don’t cry, he thinks, but Rin only bows his head with stoic grace as the silver medal is placed around his neck. As soon as it’s done, Rin looks up and smiles a beautiful, perfect smile, all teeth and triumph and sheer joy. The spectators explode in response, applause ear-shattering.

Haru isn’t thinking of Rin, when he steps up and receives his own medal. He’s spent so much time telling himself he doesn’t care about winning or medals or times or any of it, it’s hard to reconcile those feelings with the strange displacement he feels when a gold medal is placed around his neck. He reaches up to touch it, fingers reverently tracing the entwined circles. He remembers to look up at the last moment when his name is called, and instead of beaming like Rin he half-bows, more thankful than anything else. 

It’s late, by the time they make it back to the village, medals still hanging around their necks. Rin walks Haru back to his room. He hasn’t stopped smiling since the ceremony, his mouth lopsided and his voice high and disbelieving as he insists on repeating the details of the ceremony to Haru five times, even though they were both there.

“I’ve never raced like that, before,” Rin says. “Aren’t you glad you listened to me? Aren’t we always going to be the best, together, on the international stage?”

Haru is feeling too much. He doesn’t know what to do with all of the different things he wants to say. So instead he just nods, looking at his feet. “Yes.”

“You’re smiling,” Rin says in quiet wonder, leaning down and trying to catch a glimpse of Haru’s expression.

“No, I’m not,” Haru insists, but Rin grabs his chin and forces him to look up, and he can’t hide it anymore. He’s happy, and it’s strange, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He hasn’t stopped shaking since the end of the race.

“Haru,” Rin whispers, and he stops, reaching up and tracing the line of Haru’s smile with the pads of his index and middle fingers. 

Haru can only sigh and lean against Rin, their medals clanking softly as they tap against each other.

“You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now,” Rin mutters, hands clenching. “So—just this once—this doesn’t count, alright?”

Before Haru can ask him what he means, Rin brings his own hand to his lips and kisses the tips of his fingers before reaching out and pressing them against Haru’s mouth. It’s a soft touch, painfully romantic. Haru freezes, in that moment, takes in the gleam of Rin’s silver medal and the heat and care in his eyes. 

“You’re amazing,” Rin says, softly, before his eyes narrow and his tone turns challenging. “But hell, I’m gonna match you for that medal if it’s the last thing I do here.”


	3. Chapter 3

The next day is both the 50m free and 100m butterfly heats and semifinals, but before that, early in the morning, they both have to be present for a photo-op. Japan hasn’t won two medals for one swimming event in ages, and the coaches and manages are beside themselves. 

Haru had sat stoically through the official pictures that were taken when he first made the team, and then the promotional shots that were taken in the months leading up the Olympics. But he quickly finds that Rio is an entirely different scene, when it comes to these things. 

There’s a handful of Japanese athletes who’ve medaled in various sports, by this point, and the organizers find it charming to also include the Chinese team and the South Koreans, and the spattering of other Asian medalists. After an hour of group shots, Haru and Rin are posed by the pool by a female photographer named Luiza, who has an immense amount of curling hair and talks far too quickly for Haru to understand her accented English. Rin and the managers keep up slightly better, relaying instructions to Haru in Japanese.

“Move closer,” Luiza says, directing Rin and Haru to sit side by side with their feet dangling into the water. “Unzip your jackets—more, more. We need to see the medals, don’t we? And you didn’t build up those muscles for nothing.”

An assistant comes by with a spray bottle and dampens their abs, which Haru finds to be a fascinating concept. Luiza doesn’t require that he smile, which Haru appreciates. He and Rin stare intensely into the camera as Luiza snaps multiple shots in quick succession.

She has them stand back-to-back, and then they stand five feet apart with their hands on their hips as they stand each other down. There’s a media assistant who explains that they make for a good, fluffy magazine piece—boys from the same no-name town in Japan, both rising to the height of international athleticism. Haru feels mildly offended on Iwatobi’s behalf, but says nothing. Finally, Luiza motions them forward and says she wants to take a few “more relaxed” photos.

“Can you put your arm around his shoulder?” she asks Rin, who has no trouble obliging. Rin chuckles and throws up a peace sign as the camera flashes again, while Haru tries to look more tolerant than usual. 

It’s a strange, foreign feeling—Rin is slightly wet and draped all over him, but Haru can’t _do_ anything about it. Luiza has Haru sit down in a straight-backed chair, with Rin standing just behind him. Rin’s hand rests against Haru’s shoulder as the camera clicks through another few shots. After it’s done, Rin leans down to whisper in Haru’s ear, his hair tickling Haru’s cheek.

“You look so intense,” Rin says, teasing. “It’s really hot.” 

“Oh!” Luiza says, camera flashing. “Do that again, Mr. Matsuoka!” 

Haru doesn’t know how he feels about the fact that the whole world will see these pictures, but no one will know what he and Rin are to each other. He does know what he wants to do, right at this moment, but he has two more events to compete in and cannot indulge himself.

It’s the beginning of a long, long day.

Haru loves swimming, so he wouldn’t say that the 50m free is his least favorite event. He doesn’t have a least favorite event, really. But the 50m is the shortest race that swimming has to offer, and can be over in twenty seconds. He doesn’t have time to feel the water around him, to properly align with it and allow it to push him forward. He likes racing, and competition—but he hates the _rush_ of the 50m.

Rin has his butterfly qualifiers at the same, so after the photo shoot he waves his goodbyes to Haru. “You’ve already got one gold—everything else is just icing on the cake at this point, right?” He doesn’t sound bitter, but there’s a longing in his voice that Haru knows is for the gold, and not for him.

Haru tries to see things as Rin does as he makes it through his qualifying heat and then the semifinals. He doesn’t see Rin in between, but when he asks one of the coaches he learns that Rin’s made it to his own final. Haru goes to bed early, that night, to the sound of Ikuya’s shallow breathing.

Haru tries not to resent Ikuya for how easily he sleeps, but the breaststroke races are already over and Ikuya has two bronze medals to show for it. Haru tries not to think about the fact that he wants Rin beside him, and Rin’s uneven breathing and soft, sleepy mumbles. Haru groans, turning over in bed and lying face-down against his pillow. 

The medley relay heat is in the morning, and Haru can’t seem to focus. The entire event goes by in a blur, and he knows that he dives into the water at the same moment Rin smacks his hands against the side of the pool, and that he swims with all his might, for his team, but he barely registers their stats at the end. They’ve made it through to the finals, he knows, but he and Rin are quickly rushing off to their next races. 

He heads out to the 50m final the next day, and something calms in him when he sees familiar faces in the crowd. 

“Haru!”

“Haru-chan!”

Makoto and Nagisa have secured excellent seats, and wave ecstatically when they spot him. Haru edges over to the stands, grateful to them in a way he’s never been good at expressing.

“We came to watch your race!” Nagisa trills. “Rei-chan was with us, too, but he wanted to go watch the butterfly with Gou-chan and Sou-chan. But don’t worry, we’ll all be there for the relay. Swim your best, Haru-chan!”

“Good luck, Haru,” Makoto says, his smile and voice softly affirming, as they always are. 

Haru thanks them as best as he knows how, and goes to the starting block feeling lighter. He’s swimming for all of them, he knows, and for himself even when the others aren’t beside him.

The race is over in the blink of an eye, and when Haru stands on the podium for a second time he has a silver medal to add to his sudden collection. 

They aren’t given much chance to interact with the spectators, so Makoto and Nagisa say they’ll see Haru at the relay, that they have to go meet up with Gou and the others. It’s late, again, by the time Haru makes it out of the locker room and back towards the Olympic Village. 

He recognizes Rin sitting on the steps of their building before he can make out his features clearly—red hair and the shine of a medal around his neck. For a moment, his heart soars on Rin’s behalf, because Haru thinks he’s finally done it. He’s achieved his dream.

But then Haru gets closer and sees that the medal is silver, and not gold, and he’s not sure what to feel, because he’s not sure what Rin is feeling.

“Silver,” Haru says, when he’s reached Rin. 

Rin looks up at him and the first thing he does is smile, as though seeing Haru is enough to make him happy amongst the raging emotions of the Olympic games. But then he looks down at his lap and sighs, softly, reaching up to push his hair back from his ears.

“Yeah,” he says, and then, almost too quiet to hear, “It’s kind of messed up, but I’m disappointed. I mean, the first time it happened, I was so happy. And it’s the exact same thing, isn’t it? A silver medal. But it’s not gold. I’m so messed up.”

Haru takes a seat beside him, lets his shoulder knock against Rin’s. “You’re not messed up,” he says. There’s an alarm going off in the back of his mind, a frantic figure running through his thoughts, wondering if he’s stolen something from Rin. But even as he thinks it, he doesn’t feel wrong for having won a gold medal when Rin hasn’t. He swims for himself, and for his own dreams, and he’s sure that that’s what Rin wants for him, too. They won the freestyle race because they were swimming together, after all. If Haru hadn’t been there, that doesn’t mean Rin would have won gold.

“I feel sort of ungrateful,” Rin admits, fidgeting with the silver medal. “How many people make it this far, place in two separate events? I mean, I looked out and saw Sousuke in the crowd during the ceremony and thought, shit, I’m such an asshole. But I… I want the gold so _badly_ , Haru.”

Haru drapes one arm around Rin’s waist, sits beside him silently for a long moment. Rin is a tactile person, and he sighs as he melts into the contact, calmed by Haru’s presence.

“I just want a gold medal,” Rin says, more to himself that to Haru. “I know it’s a lot, to expect. But I want to be good enough. And I want to be worthy of you, too. You’re amazing, Haru.”

Rin worries, a lot. He’s good at hiding it, most days, but Haru knows the leaching insecurities that he developed during middle school have never fully faded away. Normally, when Haru can’t comfort Rin verbally, he does so physically. He lets Rin feel validated and loved by Haru’s touch, by his kisses, by the soft sounds they both make that spell out things they’re both still too scared to say aloud. But they have one more race to finish, before they can let go.

“You’re amazing, too,” Haru mumbles, pulling Rin to his feet. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow, everything will be fine.”

Haru’s been in bed for an hour and a half when someone knocks on the door. Ikuya mutters something incoherent, turning over in his sleep. Haru scowls, but makes his way to the door.

Rin is standing out in the hallway, eyes wide and hands stuffed into the pockets of his pajama pants. He looks small, and young, and vulnerable. 

“Rin?” Haru asks, sleep making his voice heavy.

“I—shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be distracting you,” Rin says, turning his face towards the floor. “I just—I can’t sleep, and Yamada snores, because he sucks on every level. And I miss you, and I just—”

Rin cuts himself off, embarrassed. But Haru knows what they both need, so he reaches out and grabs Rin by the hand, leading them back into his room. 

“Sleep with me,” Haru says, gesturing for Rin to lie down in his bed. And Rin looks visibly relieved, and smiles at Haru like he’s just handed him the world.

It’s a tight fit, but they make it work. They lie face-to-face, Haru’s head against Rin’s shoulder, their arms wrapped loosely around each other. Haru feels softly pleased to have Rin in his arms, like this. He feels like Rin belongs to him, in some quiet way, and that he belongs to Rin in kind. 

You’re going to do great, Haru thinks, watching Rin’s eyes flutter closed and feeling his heartbeat even out. We’ve always been best when we’re together.

But the last thought that he has before falling asleep himself is that he doesn’t want to take anything away from Rin. He just wants Rin, himself. 

When they wake up in the morning, Ikuya is standing by his own bed and looking at Rin and Haru with more exasperation that surprise. “You’re going to be late,” he says, pointedly, before draping his jacket over his shoulders and leaving the room.

Haru doesn’t feel embarrassed, but he feels Rin stiffen beside him and tries not to sigh. “Don’t be so self-conscious,” he mutters. “Let’s get going.”

Rin laughs it off, but his voice is high and pitchy and Haru knows that he’s nervous. They’re both too influenced by their own emotions, can’t swim past the inhibitions they raise for themselves. So Haru offers to stretch Rin out before they head to the practice pools, and then Rin returns the favor, and when they let their fingers linger just a bit too long against each other’s skin, it’s like an electrical circuit starts running between them. 

The locker room is full of nervous energy, and more athletes than there had been for the individual races. Haru can admit that he likes their relay team—the backstroke and breaststroke swimmers are slightly more experienced, dependable and solid. They greet Haru and Rin with high-fives and slaps on the shoulder, and when they’re called out to the pool everything suddenly goes still.

Being the anchor in a relay has its disadvantages. Haru’s always the last member of his team to swim, always has the last chance to either lose or win. He waits through the backstroke, thinking back to days when Makoto would always occupy that place in any lineup he was a part of. The breaststroke swimmer isn’t Ikuya or Nagisa, but someone with just as much drive, and passion. Just before he hits the water, Rin turns and offers Haru a two-fingered salute.

“I’m off,” he says, grinning so wide that Haru could count all his sharp teeth. And it’s a beautiful sight, because this is the Rin who loves relays for their own sake, not for medals or validation or because he’s chasing a ghost. He moves powerfully through the water, his arms extended at perfect angles and his body moving in sync with the rhythm of the water. 

Haru doesn’t even need to think, when Rin starts headed back towards them. Nothing else exists, in that moment, except the connection between them, and their team, and the race they’ll finish for its own sake. When Rin hits the side of the pool, Haru is already sailing over him, plunging into the water with his customary grace. 

It’s their last race, and their last chance. But Haru swims as he always has, because there’s a sort of freedom in this, too.

He hits the side of the wall and doesn’t look up at the standings. But three sets of hands are helping him out of the pool, and he falls forward in a tangle of limbs and lands squarely on top of Rin, who’s laughing and crying all at once. 

“You did it, Haru,” Rin is saying, “We did it. We won!”

There are cameras flashing and a ceremony to get through. There’s adrenaline pumping through his system, telling him he’s achieved something he used to be too scared and stubborn to even want. And there is Rin beside him, holding onto his hand and laughing and sobbing, his cheeks red and flushed and perfect. 

Haru doesn’t know if he feels more pride looking down at his second gold medal, or turning his head to see Rin wearing his first. It’s a close competition, he decides, and he’s happy.

There are photo-ops, afterwards. His parents are there, and Rin’s mother, and Gou and Nagisa and Makoto and Rei and Sousuke. Too quickly, the team is being shuffled away to do press interviews. Haru never knows what to do with himself, at these points. He has his scripted answers, usually delivered blandly, but he can’t imagine getting them out now when all he wants to do is stay in this moment. He’s never felt this way before. 

“Mr. Nanase, Mr. Matsuoka, I understand you’ve been swimming together for a long time?” The interviewer starts. She’s young and confident, pointing her microphone towards Haru, first.

“Yes,” Haru manages to say, “Since elementary school.”

“On and off,” Rin adds. “But even when we aren’t on the same team, this guy’s always pushing me forward.”

“That’s wonderful,” the interviewer says. “How does it feel, winning gold for Japan? Did you ever think this would happen?”

Rin scoffs. “It’s not something you hope for,” he says. “You chase it, strive for it. It’s not really the same thing. Winning gold for Japan has been my dream for so long, I’m not even sure this is real, right now.”

“Mr. Nanase? Do you feel same way?”

Haru glances at the interviewer. When he speaks, it’s with utter and simple conviction. “I have more than one dream. This, and Rin, too.”

It takes the interviewer a moment to realize what he’s saying, but Haru doesn’t hear whatever she says next. Rin is looking at him with wide eyes. “Haru…”

He shrugs. “It’s true.”

“I think we’re done, here,” someone is saying, but Haru’s no longer listening. Because when the coaches usher them out of the press room, Rin grabs Haru’s hand and tugs him down the hallway, looking around frantically for some place empty and quiet.

Rin surges forward, presses his lips to Haru’s and moves against him with weeks of pent up passion and affection. Haru whines, embarrassingly, but then digs his fingers into Rin’s hair and lets Rin feel his happiness, his desire, and his love.

They’re both gasping for breath like they’ve just raced, holding onto each other’s hands as their medals glint in the light.

Haru looks up at Rin and cocks a challenging brow. “You lose,” he says, and then he smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one more chapter to this, which is exactly what you think it will be! But I haven't had enough time to edit/complete it, so I'll hopefully have it up by the end of the weekend. Sorry for the delay, giftee, but hopefully it'll be worth the wait.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s a day that Haru never wants to forget, but he wouldn’t be able to even if he tried. He feels like he’s about to go blind from how many camera flashes are aimed in his direction, from official photographers and fans and, most of all, Gou. 

“I _am_ the official photographer,” she huffs, as she directs the relay team into position for perhaps their hundredth photo. “Those people from the magazines don’t count! I’ve been recording your progress forever, Onii-chan, and yours since high school, Haruka-senpai! Now— _stand still_.” 

Rin seems content to be shuffled around by his sister, and he eventually nudges the others out of the frame and tugs Gou towards him so that he can sling an arm around her shoulders and kiss her on the brow. Gou passes off her camera to Rei (the only person whose aesthetics she trusts, apparently), and then their mother is joining the two of them, a mess of red-hair and tears as all three of them get emotional. 

It lasts a few moments, and then Rin is extending a hand towards him. “Get over here, Haru—family pictures.”

Haru doesn’t really know what he feels in that moment—Rin is directing him to hold his medal up towards the camera, and Rin’s mother is ruffling his hair, and Gou is beaming from ear-to-ear—but afterward, when he looks at the pictures, he’s smiling.

(He’s smiling in the pictures with his own parents, and with Makoto, and Rei and Nagisa, and the team, and then the few with just him and Rin, side by side and radiating happiness.)

There are more celebrations, with the entire national team, men and women. The coaches aren’t the type to offer easy praise, but there’s no mistaking the fierce pride in their eyes. Ikuya purses his lips and mutters, “You always have to show everyone up, don’t you?” but then he bumps a fist against Haru’s shoulder, and Haru knows it’s admiration and not resentment. 

Being around people always seems to sap Haru’s energy, to leave him feeling not discontent but tired. The euphoria of winning sees him through the evening, because these are people he wants to share his happiness with. But when everyone finally leaves to return to their hotels or rooms in the village, he’s grateful. 

Rin is walking behind him as they go towards their own building, and when they’re at the main entrance he leans in and whispers in Haru’s ear, “Now?”

His breath blows across Haru’s skin, sending shivers up his spine. He reaches blindly behind him and grabs Rin’s hand, tugging him along impatiently while Rin laughs.

It’s only when they reach their hallway that Haru stops, his brow furrowing in frustration. “Where can we go?” They both have roommates, after all. He’s not sure he wants to know how Ikuya would react to walking in on what Haru has planned. 

Rin looks up and smirks, reaching into the pocket of his track pants and pulling out two room keys. Haru tilts his head, and Rin’s expression turns downright wicked. “I may or may not have swiped Yamada’s key this morning.”

“You’re going to lock him out all night?” 

Rin shrugs, unconcerned. “Hey, he’s the one always going on about how much ass he’s getting in the village—I’m sure he can find a way to deal with it.”

On another day, Haru might be more concerned, but as it is he’s waited long enough. He grabs both keys out of Rin’s hands and heads down the hallway, glancing back only once with a look that clearly says, “Well? Aren’t you coming?”

Rin’s room is immaculately kept, as one might expect. Haru sits down on his bed and fusses with the blankets, while Rin hangs his team jacket up in the closet. He turns back towards the bed, stretching his arms over his head so that his tank rides up, revealing a sliver of his stomach. Haru wants to touch him, and it takes him a moment to remember that he can, now.

He gets up and presses close to Rin’s side, tucking his head against Rin’s shoulder as his fingers trace the contours of Rin’s abs through his tank. Rin shivers when Haru pushes his shirt up and strokes his fingers along Rin’s skin, sighing in contentment when Rin presses a kiss to his forehead, and then each of his cheeks and the tip of his nose. Haru turns so that they’re face to face, and then Rin’s arms are around his waist and Haru’s hands are clasped behind Rin’s neck, and they’re kissing like it’s the first time, again. Except it’s better than that, because they know all the perfect angles, and Rin isn’t shy about licking his way into Haru’s mouth, and when Haru edges his leg between Rin’s and moves against him, neither of them shift away from embarrassment. They’re shameless and impatient, and soon Haru’s skin feels too warm and he’s gasping against Rin’s skin and he wants to stay in this moment forever. 

But he also wants to make it even better.

He pulls away from Rin, who lets out a truly desperate whine in response. He’s breathing heavily, hair in his eyes as he pouts at Haru. “Why’d you stop?”

“You lost,” Haru reminds him, taking a step back.

“Yeah, _and_?” Rin reaches for him, but Haru just shakes his head and sits back down on the bed.

“I won,” Haru says. 

“So?” Rin says. “You won, do whatever you want, just come here.” 

But Haru sits back and shakes his head. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, watching as Rin grows increasingly impatient. He crosses his arms over his chest and glares at Haru, brows narrowed dangerously over his eyes. 

“ _Well_?”

“Go shower,” Haru says, after a moment. “Then come back here.”

For a moment, Rin looks like he’s about to protest. Then he just rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Fine,” he says, but leans down and kisses Haru’s lips before he turns away. “I said you could control the sex,” he explains, pulling off his tank, “but now that the bet’s over, I’m going to kiss you as much as I want.”

Rin tosses his tank into the hamper, his gold medal glinting against his bare chest before he pulls it off, too. He looks down at it with a funny, incredulous smile, and then kisses it, just a press of his lips against the cold metal. He opens a drawer and places the medal reverently inside, before shaking his head one last time at Haru and disappearing into the bathroom. 

Haru waits until he hears the water running, then turns to the same drawer. Inside are Rin’s three Olympic medals—two silver, one gold. Haru pulls each of them out and lays them on the bed, but then he sees what else Rin had hidden away—photographs.

There’s one from the high school relay that they’d been disqualified from, and a shot of Rin and Gou as children with both of their parents. There’s the entire Samezuka swim team from the year Rin graduated, and another of his Australian club. Finally, there’s a single shot of Haru. He doesn’t know when it was taken, but he’s smiling, looking away from the camera. Haru’s heart does a somersault in his chest worthy of any Olympic gymnast. He puts the photographs back carefully, then sheds his own jacket and shirt, folding them and placing them on top of Rin’s suitcase. He still has his own medal around his neck, and after a moment he takes it off, placing it on top of the pile of his clothes. He sits back down on the bed and waits.

When Rin emerges from the bathroom, he’s wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, draped low enough that Haru can make out the lines of his hipbones. Rin glances at Haru and lifts both his brows.

“You’re still wearing pants.”

“I know. Come here.” Haru holds out one hand in invitation, and Rin doesn’t need telling twice. He crosses the room quickly, clutching Haru’s hand and leaning down into the kiss that Haru pulls him into. Haru tugs Rin into his lap, and the towel falls to the floor as Rin straddles him. Rin’s skin and hair are still slightly damp, and Haru moans softly as he feels Rin moving softly against him. He lets this go on for a minute, maybe two, and then he braces his hands on Rin’s shoulders to keep him still for a moment.

“You are you going to keep stopping me all night?” Rin grouses.

Haru just shrugs. It’s a tempting thought. “Did you bring anything?” he asks, glancing around the room.

“There’s lube and condoms in the bottom drawer,” Rin sighs, rolling off of Haru and onto his back. “I don’t know about you, but I’m way too tight right now.”

“It’s okay,” Haru murmurs, getting off the bed to retrieve the new package of lube and placing it and the condoms on the bedside table. He brushes Rin’s hair away from his face, brings his lips close to Rin’s ear to whisper, “I’ll loosen you up.” 

Haru watches as Rin flushes scarlet, turning his head so that he’s no longer looking Haru in the eye. “So? Get on with it, then.”

But Haru is tired of rushing. Races are about speed, about winning, and sometimes that’s how things are between him and Rin. They rush because they’re impatient, compete in seeing who can get the other off first because happiness and completion are like victory, to them. These weeks at the Olympics have been the same, chasing medals and rankings because, for isolated moments, they are truly all that matters. But there are those in-between moments, when the air is quiet and still between them, and Haru doesn’t have to worry about Rin drifting off to some far off place without him, can turn in his sleep and know he’ll find Rin beside him.

“Rin, can I try something?”

“You won,” Rin says. “You can do whatever you want.”

Haru shakes his head. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want.”

Rin chuckles softly, but he’s blushing. “What the hell, Haru? Got something really kinky planned?”

He shakes his head, glares slightly as he brings his palms up against Rin’s cheeks and squeezes in some kind of retaliation. “Just tell me to stop,” he says, slowly and plainly, “And I will.”

Rin closes his eyes for a moment, and then nods. “Alright. I’ll tell you.”

Haru nods, satisfied, then reaches up the bed to grab for Rin’s medals. Rin quirks a brow at them curiously, but Haru just pushes him until he’s sitting up against the headboard. He takes one of Rin’s wrists in his hands and loops the soft fabric of one medal’s ribbon around it. He uses the medal as a counterweight, securely tying Rin’s hand to the headboard. Rin tugs at the ribbon experimentally, brow furrowing when the knot gives a little, but doesn’t come undone.

Haru leans in and kisses Rin’s wrist. “Okay?”

Rin swallows, then nods. “Okay.”

He repeats the process with Rin’s other hand and his second silver medal. He takes the gold and puts it over Rin’s neck, again. 

“Are you going to stare at me, or fuck me?” Rin whines, when Haru is sitting back on his heels, observing his handiwork. Rin is always proactive, in this especially. When they’re together, he touches Haru all over, makes sure he’s feeling good because, as Rin had explained once, there’s nothing in it for him if Haru isn’t enjoying it, too. 

But what Haru enjoys most are those moments when Rin stops thinking and just feels, the noises he makes and the way his brow scrunches just before smoothing out again. And tonight, he intends to get his fill.

He starts with Rin’s mouth, leaning over him and kissing him soundly and deeply. He licks over each of Rin’s pointed teeth and lets his hands map ever line of Rin’s body beneath him. He pulls away only to plant a kiss on Rin’s chin, and then licks a line down his neck before settling to bite the skin over his collarbone. They’re both already pretty worked up, but it’s amazing to see the way Rin ignites beneath him, body turning as much as it can into every touch.

Haru keeps drifting lower, kissing Rin’s chest as his fingers rub over one of Rin’s nipples. When he increases the pressure, Rin jolts, his voice high and strained when he says, “ _Haru_.”

So, of course, Haru does it again, and again, until Rin is shifting his hips up to press against Haru’s groin, until Rin is shaking, until Rin throws his head back and lets out an inarticulate moan. 

“Come _on_ ,” he pleads, when Haru’s paused long enough for him to catch his breath. “It’s been so long, give me something, _more_.”

Haru nods, and shifts positions so that he can comfortably lie down on the bed, his feet dangling slightly over the edge. His head is level with Rin’s stomach, so he kisses there too before going lower. He feels Rin breath a sight of relief when Haru makes it to his groin, but Haru ignores Rin’s cock entirely and kisses the soft skin of his thighs, thinking about how much he wanted to do this when he was shaving Rin days earlier. 

“Oh my god,” Rin groans. “You’re such a tease.”

“I won,” Haru reminds him, not caring to keep the smugness from his voice.

“Shit, I know,” Rin grumbles. “Can’t really remember why I was so desperate to kiss an asshole like you, anyway.”

Haru just shrugs, kisses behind Rin’s knees and down to his feet. He feels the bed shift slightly every time Rin tugs at the knots, but they have yet to come loose. Satisfied, Haru reaches over Rin for the bottle of lube, uncapping it and letting the cold gel settles for a moment against his hand before he goes back to kissing Rin’s thigh, then the line of his hips and over his stomach again. 

“If you spend half my life down there without blowing me, I’ll never forgive you,” Rin declares hotly.

“So impatient,” Haru murmurs, shaking his head. But before Rin can articulate a response, Haru finally turns his attention to Rin’s cock. He kisses the head, twice and then three times, before he finally sucks it into his mouth and begins blowing Rin in earnest. When he sees Rin’s head tip back, he brings his fingers to Rin’s entrance and circles the skin there slowly, waiting until he feels the tension slowly ebbing away before he inserts one finger. 

Rin makes short, abortive noises as Haru sucks his cock and massages his entrance. It’s hard to keep his mind on both tasks at once, and keep track of Rin’s reactions, but that’s alright. He revels in the closeness, the heat of Rin’s body and the familiar taste of his cock, hidden under the scent of the village’s complimentary body-wash. 

Rin’s loosening up so slowly, but eventually Haru nudges a second finger inside him, beside the first, and begins moving them in tandem to the rhythm his tongue is setting. He can sense when Rin is close, because his hips start moving almost frantically, but Haru doesn’t stop, just keeps fingering him and sucking him right through it until he can taste Rin’s release on his tongue. 

“Don’t stop,” Rin pleads, quietly, and so Haru keeps working him, swallowing down as much of Rin’s release as he can before pulling away. He keeps fingering Rin, enjoys the small, mewling noises he makes as he comes down from the high of orgasm and the shifts of his thighs against each other as he tries to decide whether he’s too sensitive to continue or not. 

Haru feels impossibly hard, now, and lets one of his hands drift downwards to palm his cock through the think material of his track pants. 

“Haru,” Rin murmurs, “I want to kiss you.” His voice is so soft, quiet and almost sleepy, and Haru doesn’t even think to deny him. He crawls back up Rin’s body and brings their lips together, and Rin groans when he tastes himself on Haru’s tongue, and then again, more loudly, when Haru’s cock rubs against his thigh. 

Haru keeps kissing Rin, wraps both his arms around Rin’s torso and holds him close. He’s always had more patience, and even though half his mind is frantic after his own release the other half of him is content to have Rin warm and secure and relaxed in his arms.

“Is that it?” Rin sighs, a few minutes later. His voice sounds thick and rough, his lips red from being kissed, so Haru licks at them once more for good measure.

When he pulls away, Haru lets out a small, indignant huff. “We’re not done,” he says.

He remembers why it is that Rin can always push him forward when no one else can when Rin just lifts his chin, and drawls, “Well, then. Let’s go, Nanase.”

Haru takes his time. He finally moves away from Rin to slip out of his pants and underwear, tossing them off to the side because Rin is still too blissed out to notice any messiness. Haru climbs back onto the bed, and Rin’s looking up at him through lidded eyes, a small, stupid smile on his too-red lips. 

“You’re really beautiful, y’know,” Rin says, beating Haru too it. Haru pauses, a little taken aback. “You have no idea how hard it was, being around you and not being _with_ you.”

For a moment, Haru isn’t sure if Rin is talking about the past few weeks, or all of the years before that. He doesn’t know what to say, so he just presses his face into Rin’s stomach, nuzzling into the muscle as he shakes his head. 

Rin squirms, laughing. “You’re so weird,” he mutters. “I’m trying to tell you how I feel, here.” 

Haru has never been good at saying things. He knows how he feels, but he very rarely feels the needs to explain himself in words. He’s learned, over time, that the people around him—even when they understand him completely—like hearing things. They need more verbal affirmation than Haru does. 

He shifts around until he’s looking up at Rin, head still against his stomach. “I know.” 

Rin must catch something in his eyes, or his voice, because he’s suddenly biting down on his lips and looking away. “Well, good,” he says. 

Haru presses a kiss to Rin’s gold medal, and then shifts away. He grabs the bottle of lube again, pouring more onto his hand. “Tell me if it’s too much.” He waits for Rin to nod before he returns his fingers to Rin’s hole, touching gentle and exploratory at first. In the grand scheme of things, it had taken them no time at all to work up to this point, but at moments like this Haru is still full of wonder at the fact that Rin can be so open with him—physically, emotionally. He traces two of his fingers against Rin’s clenching muscles, watching as Rin shifts and groans around him. He waits for Rin to still before he adds a third finger, going deeper.

It takes a few moments, but then Rin clenches his teeth and groans, “ _Haru_.” 

He doesn’t shift his attention away from that spot, keeping up a steady pressure. He uses his free hand to grip Rin’s cock, feeling him harden with a strange sense of satisfaction. Rin makes small noises, groans _more_ and _Haru_ and _don’t stop_ whenever he can catch his breath, and Haru lets the noises and sensations surround him, the feeling akin to when he dunks his head under water. He’s submerged in everything Rin’s willing to give him, and like always it’s more than enough. 

Rin gets close to the edge, again, but Haru squeezes his cock just this side of two hard and listens as Rin hisses between his clenched teeth. 

“What is it _now_?” 

Haru just shakes his head, wipes his fingers against the sheets and reaches over Rin’s head for a condom. Rin is panting, his chest rising and falling visibly as he tries and fails to follow Haru’s movements with his eyes. Eventually he gives up, lets his head tilts back and his eyes flutter shut.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he says, words slurred.

“Do you want me to stop?” Haru’s halfway through rolling on the condom with his slick fingers, paused to wait for Rin’s response.

“God, no,” Rin sighs out. 

Haru finishes his rolling on the condom and slicking himself up with more lube, then rushes upwards to cradle Rin’s in his hands and kisses him while Rin’s eyes are closed and his mouth is open and pliant. He’s so relaxed and happy that Haru can barely take it, just wants them both to feel this good for the rest of their lives. 

He rolls to one side and nudges Rin’s shoulder. “Can you turn onto your side?”

It takes some maneuvering, but the ribbons tying Rin’s hands are long enough to make it work. Rin shifts onto his side, palms now pressed together over his head, and Haru spoons behind him, pulling Rin’s hips back towards him. 

“Do you want me to?” Haru asks in Rin’s ear, and he feels he mostly deserves it when Rin presses his hips back against Haru’s cock, lifting them away just before the friction gets truly satisfying. 

“Do I _want_ you to?” Rin hisses. “Hurry up and fuck me, Nanase, or I will find another horny Olympian to do it for you—”

Haru bites down on Rin’s neck in retaliation, and while Rin’s distracted he slides into him, and it feels so good after so long that Haru lets out a shaky and unmistakable groan. He holds still for long moments, his hands on Rin’s hips, holding him close. Normally, they face each other and Rin wraps his arms around Haru, and they press so tightly up against each other that Haru isn’t sure who’s guiding their movements, or even who orgasms first. It’s different, like this, because he can feel the notches of Rin’s spine against his chest and he can trail his hands upwards over Rin’s stomach and he can barely see Rin’s face, but the noises he’s making are more than enough. 

“God, Haru—move, _please_.” 

So he does. He keeps his thrusts slow, at first, but then even his steadfast control begins to fray, and he’s pulling Rin back onto his cock and slamming forward into him, and Rin is shaking and clenching around him and stuttering out brokenly _fuck_ and _yes_ and _Haru, Haru_. He lets it all wash over him, chases the purse sensation of it.

“Can you—ah—” Rin’s voice is cut off by his own moan, but then he continues, “Touch me?” 

Haru kisses the nape of his neck and shifts, taking Rin’s cock in hand and pumps it slowly, too slowly, because Rin is slowly falling apart in his arms and nothing has ever felt better than this. 

“Faster,” Rin growls, clenching down on Haru’s cock, and that’s it—Haru is coming, breath escaping him in something between a sigh and a groan. Rin doesn’t wait for him to ride it out, keeps tugging at the knots and clenching tighter, tighter, pleading, “Touch me, faster, come _on_.” 

It takes a few moments for his mind to catch up to Rin’s words, but when they do Haru starts stroking him off in earnest, still inside of Rin. Rin throws his head back onto Haru’s shoulder when he comes, the color high in his cheeks and his mouth open in a soundless moan. 

Haru doesn’t move away immediately, trails his fingers up Rin’s chest, sticky with his come.

“Gross,” Rin mutters, squirming. But when Haru lifts his fingers to Rin’s lips, Rin kisses his palm and licks his fingers clean without being asked. 

They’re both still panting, catching their breath. After a few moments, Rin begins tugging at his bindings in earnest, turning his head towards Haru and asking, quietly, “Can you untie me?”

Haru looks at him questioningly, and is sure that if Rin wasn’t already flushed he’d start blushing.

“I want to hold you,” Rin mutters into the pillows. 

Haru feels his heart get stuck in his throat as he edges out of Rin and pulls off the condom, tying it off and walking over to the trash to toss it. He doesn’t listen when Rin calls out, “Hey!” as Haru continues into the bathroom. He washes his hands quickly, dries them just as fast before returning to the bedroom.

“What’s your problem?” Rin practically screeches.

Haru just gives him a look, reaching up to untie the medals. “They’d get dirty,” he explains, setting both carefully on the bedside table. 

“Oh.” Rin massages his wrists, looks slightly abashed, but as soon as Haru climbs back onto the bed Rin’s arms are around him, crushing him against Rin’s chest. Haru can feel the imprint of Rin’s gold medal against his chest, cold while Rin’s skin is almost burning.

They lay curled up like that for a long time, Haru running his fingers through Rin’s hair as Rin sucks a bruising mark against Haru’s shoulder.

Eventually, Rin rolls over with a groan, stretching out his arms. “You’re ridiculous. It’s not an Olympic event, you know.” 

Haru shifts over, bracing his arms on either side of Rin so that he’s looking down on him again. “If it was, I would win.”

“What happened to ‘I don’t care about winning or losing,’” Rin tries to jibe, but Haru kisses him quiet.

“You can always ask for a rematch.” 

He thinks he falls a little bit more in love when the challenge lights up Rin’s eyes, and then Rin is rolling him over across the bed, laughing and kissing him.

Haru isn’t really sure how much sleep he gets that night, if any. It’s still impossibly early, the next morning, when Rin is grumbling about being tired and sore even as he challenges Haru to a race up the hill to see Christ the Redeemer. It takes them longer than it perhaps would have, otherwise, but like Rin mentions, as soon as the games end the place will be flooded with even more tourists, so they should take the opportunity they have.

Haru makes it to the top first, a feat in and of itself. (Or a testament, perhaps, to how much he’d tired Rin out the night before.) Rin is close behind him, laughing even as he calls out for Haru to wait up for him. 

The sun is just beginning to rise as they look out over Rio, the statue casting its formidable shadow over the city dyed in pink and blue and gold.

“A sight we’ve never seen before, right, Haru?”

Haru takes Rin’s hand. It’s one more sight on a list that will eventually be too many to count. Rin’s grip tightens around his fingers as Rio slowly illuminates before them, and Haru is happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's even later than I said it would be-- my deepest apologies, giftee!! I really hope you enjoy this chapter despite the delay, and that you have a wonderful New Year!
> 
> I know everyone and their mom has done Haru and Rin at the Christ the Redeemer statue, but, well, it's _Rio_. And they'll see other sights with the whole gang later on, I'm sure. 
> 
> Thanks for everyone who read the first chapters of this, and especially to everyone who left super nice comments! I'll respond to things once author identities have been revealed, and until then I hope you enjoy the conclusion.
> 
> Title from the Magnetic Fields' "You and Me and the Moon."
> 
> [here](http://newamsterdame.tumblr.com/post/136341482625/and-at-the-slightest-touch-were-in-love-parts) on tumblr.


End file.
